Me Tarzana, but You’d Hardly Know It

It was the morning of the big day and I was driving west on Ventura Boulevard. Street banners promoting the L.A. Zoo’s new “Chimps of Mahale Mountains” seemed a good omen as I headed through Encino.

A street sign welcomed me to Tarzana and I noticed a florist shop, the Flower Factory.

Perfect.

Excuse me, I said to the florist, but do you do Tarzan arrangements? You know. . . something Tarzanesque?

The owner of the Flower Factory answered with a blank expression.

How sad, it seemed, that on the eve of the 123rd anniversary of the birth of Edgar Rice Burroughs, creator of Tarzan and Tarzana as well, a person could walk into a Tarzana florist, order a Tarzan arrangement and receive a blank look.

I sighed, identified myself as a reporter and asked for something with a jungle theme.

Now florist Simon Soriano understood. He pointed out tropical flowers and told of a “jungly” arrangement they had sent out that morning--not just flora, but little stuffed fauna, including monkeys that hung from vines.

But please--those monkeys are Cheeta wannabes at best. And the Flower Factory had no Tarzans, no Janes, no Boys.

Sheesh, Tarzana, do I have to do your marketing for you?

Yes, 123 years ago today, ERB came into the world, naked as nature. Modern Tarzan devotees know Burroughs by his initials, reading obscure publications such as “ERB-Dom” and “ERBania.” But in Tarzana--so named because the author called his 550-acre estate here “Tarzana Ranch”--it takes some doing to find evidence of this fanciful heritage.

This is strange, because I’m told the Tarzana Chamber of Commerce has been on a jungle kick, trying to get merchants to exploit this distinctive identity. Meanwhile, plans for sprucing up Ventura Boulevard call for a jungly motif. This means little pocket parks with palm trees and such--not vines for swinging across traffic.

Soriano suggested I visit a local Bank of America, one of two locations with ERBanalia on display, the other being the local post office. Sure enough, in the bank one can see photos of five actors who portrayed Tarzan before Johnny Weissmuller took over the franchise. Elmo Lincoln, star of the 1918 silent film “Tarzan of the Apes,” looked more like a rhinoceros-eater than a crocodile-wrestler.

I was admiring an oversized Tarzan comic strip and a Parker Bros. 1939 vintage Tarzan adventure board game. A voice I assumed to be that of a bank employee asked me if I was “the one who called the office.”

*

No, I didn’t, I said, thinking he meant the bank. Then I noticed the man was wearing a T-shirt. Over the heart was the script: TARZAN: The Epic Adventure.

Every tale could use at least one twist of fate, one dash of serendipity, and now I had mine.

This was Danton Burroughs, who is not only ERB’s grandson, but keeper of the flame and, more profitably, protector of worldwide copyrights and trademarks. I had, in fact, called Edgar Rice Burroughs Inc. a few days before but was told that Danton wouldn’t be back until the day after my deadline.

So, how’s the Tarzan business?

“Good,” ERB’s grandson said. “It stays steady all over the world.” Some station somewhere, he says, is airing reruns of the 48 Tarzan movies and the 57 hourlong TV shows that starred Ron Ely. (Last year, Edgar Rice Burroughs Inc. blocked distribution of an unauthorized Tarzan flick. The X-rating, they figured, wasn’t an appropriate image.)

Danton invited me to the company headquarters on Ventura Boulevard, a modest and handsome Spanish-style bungalow his grandfather built on the estate in 1924. ERB once had been so poor he pawned his pocket watch to feed his family, but Tarzan made him wealthy.

Gen. Harrison Gray Otis, an early publisher of The Times, sold him the sprawling San Fernando Valley property in 1919 for $125,000. By 1923 Burroughs was subdividing, asking $1,500 per acre. ERB, meanwhile, had already copyrighted his hero, enabling his heirs to control the licensing.

Danton’s office was filled with properly licensed magazines, books, videos and Tarzan action figures. The Tarzan name has been licensed for a Japanese line of sun-care products and sportswear. On Danton’s desk was the manuscript for a new Tarzan adventure novel by author Philip Jose Farmer.

Look for the old Ape-Man to get a big pop-culture boost next spring with the release of the animated feature “Disney’s Tarzan.” Danton, for one, is hoping the premiere is staged in Tarzana. Certainly the Tarzana Chamber of Commerce would think that was swell. Seriously, now, amid all the boosterish “Valley of the Stars” hype, can the Valley claim a bigger star than Tarzan? (Not counting the Valley Girl, I mean.)

Yet after I left Tarzan central, it was apparent that local merchants haven’t made the most of the Burroughs legacy.

*

In Tarzana Square I visited Pages, a children’s and young adult’s bookstore. In its adventure and science fiction section were L. Frank Baum’s “The Wizard of Oz” and Ray Bradbury’s “The Martian Chronicles.” But no Burroughs.

Driving west, a sign caught my eye: Greystoke Furniture. Before he went native, Tarzan was born a lord in the House of Greystoke. When owner Henry Wong opened his store in January, he figured the name was appropriate for Tarzana.

Saleswoman Lorenda Starfelt said the name had brought some curious writers into the store, as well as actor Caspar Van Diem, one of the more recent successors to Elmo Lincoln.

But Greystoke Furniture failed to get an autographed Tarzan still for its walls, and Wong and Starfelt were not aware that ERB was about to have a birthday. In their defense, Starfelt gamely pointed out the “Tarzan throw pillows” and “Tarzan throw rugs” with the leopard-skin pattern.

I stepped back into the heat. If any Tarzana store was beating the jungle drums, I figured it would be the Love Boutique, a purveyor of lingerie, lotions and products the ERB heirs would never license. But still, surely this store could run wild with a “Me Tarzan, you Jane” theme.

Imagine, if you will, a tastefully provocative window display of tropical lust, perhaps a soundtrack of jungle sounds--or, failing that, tunes like “Jungle Boogie.”

The window, alas, featured a naughty nurse. When I stepped inside and asked what they had in the way of loincloths, the clerk showed me what she called the “loincloth of the ‘90s.” It was made for women and goes bzzz by remote control.

Oh, there were some skimpy leopard-skin items, but otherwise little that might evoke the wild and primitive Tarzan. My search had become so desperate I pondered a book called “101 Nights of GRRREAT Sex.”

Just for a moment I thought, grrr, “Me Tarzan. . .”

But then I just thought of Tony the Tiger.

*

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com. Please include a phone number.